Chapter 76

  Just enough light for today

  In the heart of the Malakar desert, where the stars blazed in the sky, two shadows wandered. One led; the other followed.

  Ilio Draas Oriculus, the Brightness Dragon Lord, sank his bare feet into the sand, his form a kaleidoscope of essences. Observed from a distance, he was nothing more than an old and austere man—the perfect image of what legends and hearsays would define as a sage. If one drew closer, however, one could see beyond the husk he wore, and the true grandeur of his being shone with seven distinct hues.

  "Do not look at the moon, young elf," came the warning, directed at the girl who was mimicking his pace.

  Antilene Heran Fouche could not explain to herself why she was with him now. History had defined them as enemies. He was one of the last survivors of the world's ancient masters; she was the descendant of those who had ousted them.

  The teachings of her tutor had been clear: 'You are what true dragons fear. A trace of their last defeat.' Rufus… What would he make of all of this?

  The half-elf had not forgotten her origins. Their cultures were incompatible. The Daughter of Slane could find no reconciliation with the Rainbow Dragon. They walked upon common ground, yet their ideologies remained in opposition.

  'Then why am I here?'

  She had followed the dragon lord beyond the Draconic Kingdom, into that monotonously repeating landscape. She had ridden upon his back, entrusting herself to him. Could Ilio—was that his true name?—have killed her?

  Not since she had challenged her father had Antilene's mortality felt so tangible. The place where he had led her, the southern desert, was an advantage for the dragon. Without cover, in the middle of a vast open field, Antilene was at a disadvantage. Without her Wind Armor, she could not hope to compete with a true Dragon Lord in a flight challenge. At worst, she could only have attempted to flee.

  Fear, however, had not taken hold of her. The more the danger mounted, the more at ease she felt. Reckless? Many would have said so.

  "We've been walking for minutes. If you want a confrontation, this place would serve well enough."

  "We are almost there. Daughter of Sin, if I had wanted to kill you, I would not have revealed myself in this manner."

  Ilio was telling the truth. Antilene did not need her Inquisitor skills to be certain of that.

  "Have we arrived? Why not fly directly to the spot?"

  "Sometimes, discretion is necessary. If I had descended in my true form, how many would have seen me?"

  The sense of where they were headed had sharpened. Considering their origins, Antilene could make an educated guess, but it only served to multiply the questions harboring deep inside her.

  How much did Ilio know about her and her past? To what extent were the True Dragon Lords—of whom he was a part—aware of the old pact?

  As the seconds ticked by, they crested the dunes, with only the stars to illuminate the horizon. The biting cold of the night was nothing more than a nuisance.

  "We are here. Do you recognize this place?" Ilio stopped, stroking his long white beard, mimicking what must have been his idea of inscrutability. Every gesture of his was a mere imitation, perfectly crafted to suggest rather than to show.

  Stepping up beside him, Antilene finally raised her gaze. Following his advice, she hadn't laid eyes on the moon until now, and as she finally turned her face upward, it wasn't the lunar orb in the sky that captured her attention, but something that had conquered the heavens alike.

  "The Eternal City. Eryuentiu."

  "I hate this place. I hate how beautiful and marvelous it is." Ilio's regret did not blunt his contempt. And how could one blame him?

  Eryuentiu was unlike any other place in the world. Split in two, it was the perfect representation of the divide between above and below. The lower section was a metropolis that stretched as far as the eye could see—an amalgam of different architectures in a mosaic of styles that overlapped, blended, and then diverged completely. Surrounded by thick, imposing walls, seven great palaces rose in a futile surge toward the true enchantment.

  The floating city. Seeing it for the first time, Antilene was struck by a strange sense of nostalgia. Although she had never set foot there, she could imagine herself walking the spaces between the shining towers, finding shelter under the great tree that sprouted from the center of all.

  That was her legacy. The half-elf let out a sigh of wonder, discovering a part of herself she wasn't even aware she craved. If Slane, if Evasha, if the rest of the world were not her place... Was it up there that she would find peace?

  "Dragon, why have you brought me here? Don't you despise this place?"

  Ilio remained still, in respectful silence, giving her the time necessary to process the spectacle. If her suspicion weren't so deep-seated, perhaps Antilene would have found room for a flicker of gratitude.

  "Despise? Child... 'despise' does not do justice to what revisiting these places stirs within me..." He raised his arms, letting them sway in the air as if following the rhythm of a music that played only for him. "You see desert and beauty. I see the ruin of my people. My brothers and sisters, my children—buried and forgotten by the sands."

  Every grain of that desert was a tomb to Ilio. His mourning knew no respite, and the pain that devoured him—more intense than any of his fiery breaths—blazed through that nearly lightless night.

  "Is this where your kind rest?"

  "Their remains are scattered across the entire world..." What did it feel like to be one of the last children of a vanished era? Antilene's centuries of life were but a few seconds compared to that solitude. "There are few of us left, elf."

  "Don't call me elf," Antilene said. "Then why? Why did you let your great-granddaughter suffer alone?"

  Her heart had harbored that question since the very moment they met. Antilene had witnessed Draudillon's insecurities firsthand. Queen Oriculus strained herself to the breaking point to make her progenitor proud. The half-elf sympathized with such an effort.

  That man—that dragon?—did not let slip what the blood of his blood stirred within him. "Draudillon. Do not misunderstand; I love my great-granddaughter."

  Then where was that love while everything they had built was being razed to the ground? Ilio's feelings were so... distant.

  "Love? What do you know of love? If it hadn't been for me, the demi-humans would have slaughtered your granddaughter and the kingdom you founded."

  "Then you see that I was right not to intervene? After all, you were there."

  "Bullshit! The situation was critical long before I stepped in."

  "It was..." Ilio sighed. Rainbow sparks escaped his mouth, betraying his true identity. "And yet, my choice proved correct. Draudillon has taken another step toward mastery of the art. That is more important than anything else. What is love, if not the opportunity to foster growth? The Draconic Kingdom was nothing. Draudillon Oriculus embracing her heritage was everything."

  Nothing more. The Brightness Dragon Lord would have preferred his granddaughter to perish rather than fail to realize her full potential. At that point, finding common ground would be impossible.

  But there was a reason the two of them were together.

  "You didn't bring me here just to admire the landscape, did you? Old Dragon Lord, what do you want from me?"

  Ilio pointed his finger toward the floating city. "That. Your legacy. Do you know what lies inside?"

  Antilene had heard so many stories that she didn't have to waste a second reflecting on it. "The most marvelous treasures in the world. He who conquers Eryuentiu conquers the world. Or so they say."

  "Because it is true." A pause. "We are not the only ones aiming for that place. The one you know as Five Fingers needs something that is within."

  Antilene frowned. She had suspected that the two Dragon Lords were on the same side, but now it seemed they operated on two different fronts. "Five Fingers... Is she not of your kin?"

  "The few of us who remain are all of the same family. But she is something more. She shared blood with the Dragon Emperor, the greatest among us all."

  A surge of surprise could not escape the half-elf. "She's related to the Platinum Dragon Lord, then?" The architect of the Argland Republic was the Theocracy's greatest enemy. For years, Antilene's golden prison had been nothing more than a barrier to prevent her from encountering such an exceptional being.

  And now it turned out there was another? Absurd. As a plot twist, it left much to be desired.

  "Daughter of the Dragon Emperor; she is none other than the younger sister of Tsaindorcus Vaision, the Platinum Dragon Lord. Prince to us all."

  "What does she want? Revenge? Does it have to do with the Platinum Dragon Lord's disappearance?"

  Ilio stared at her, and Antilene flinched. Not because she perceived danger or trembled at his presence; on the contrary, the Brightness Dragon Lord was tired. More than power and majesty, his hunched figure projected the centuries of struggle that had eroded him bit by bit.

  A mountain whose peak had been smoothed by time and fatigue.

  "In the Theocracy, you call it the Advent," he began to explain. "Your Gods were among the first to manifest from our mistakes. You are nothing but the sin of my people."

  "Thanks for the compliment."

  Ilio ignored her comment. It was something he was accustomed to doing. "Let me explain. Magic—the primordial magic of us dragons—can be divided into two categories. The first consists of ordinary spells. The barrier that separates the world, or other enchantments we use to strengthen our physical abilities, are examples. Some define magic as 'the ability to bend the world to one's will', but it isn't exactly like that. Rather, it is the world momentarily changing itself in response to the pleas of mortals. Originally, this pact was sealed with an offering—an offering of the most sacred thing that existed: the soul. But the soul was nothing but a part, tiny undoubtedly, of the spirit of the world.

  "In short, the world took back what was originally its own to change the rules. An exception granted only to the guardians of order: the dragons. But then things changed with the Advent... Did the dragons grow greedy? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply the spirit of the world reaching a new hypothesis of that theorem we call life."

  "And is this spirit of the world a God?" Antilene asked. Part of that story had been passed down in Slane's tradition, and she was familiar with the key points. Obviously, discussing the divine nature of the Six with an ancient dragon would be a waste of effort.

  Such positions just couldn't meet.

  "No. The spirit of the world is not a living creature—or a dead one, for that matter. It is more like an idea. Though even that is not the most suitable term. The spirit of the world is all of us, and we are all the spirit of the world. It is more than the sum of the individual parts that compose it. If I add one to one, I do not get two, but three. In any case, magic was granted to the other races as well, and the required offering became more modest. It was an energy that was indeed part of the soul, but was not the soul itself, and which everyone could manage to shape with more or less ease: what you call mana. Some of my kind believe that a pact sealed by the Eight Greed Kings with the spirit of the world was the cause of this change, though I do not know the means. Regardless, it was certainly advantageous for the other races."

  After all, magic had gone from exclusive to mundane. Humanity had acquired another weapon for its struggle, and it could all be traced back to the Eight who had committed the gravest sin in the history of the Theocracy. History possessed an irony all its own.

  What had Ilio and his kind felt upon seeing themselves deprived of that privilege? Was the resentment toward the Eight sparked because they had exterminated his people, or because they had supplanted what made them unique?

  "You mentioned two types of ancestral magic earlier. What is the second?"

  "You have little patience, elf."

  "Do we have the time to have any? And don't call me 'elf,'" Antilene corrected him.

  "I suppose not," Ilio accepted defeat. "As for the second form of ancestral magic, it is slightly different from the previous one, though the methods of implementation are the same. Each of us dragons is endowed with a distinctive magic. This is our purest essence, closest to the spirit of the world. A kind of imprint, let's say. Much like those talents that rarely manifest in some of you. A special gift, meant to be guarded. Of all treasures, the most precious."

  "And as everyone knows, dragons are greedy for treasures."

  In every legend, a grain of truth. These were not majestic beings, but aberrations that covered themselves with the clothes of righteousness and brilliance.

  Ilio, too, wore the rainbow to hide his opaque and twisted ethos.

  "Alas, I cannot deny it. There were attempts at appropriation and imitation, with grotesque results. The outcome was unheard of, but the consequences were equally regrettable. Try to imagine having a sheet of paper and writing on it. Now take this sheet and give it to another: they will write on it in turn, but with a different colored ink, overlapping their words onto yours. Give it to a third and tell them to read it: even if they were to understand something, the message they interpreted would be distorted from what was originally there. Now, obviously, we are talking about spells with already terrible effects. What would be the consequences these new magics might have?"

  "Not very good ones."

  "Not very good ones, no."

  It was a lot of information to register at once, and Antilene regretted missing her lessons with Rufus. However, there was something that piqued her interest.

  "So, has it been done in the past? Has someone tried to corrupt this... imprint of yours?"

  Ilio lowered his head, so gripped by shame that he no longer looked regal or awe-inspiring. Now, he truly was just an exhausted old man.

  "There were various experiments. But it can all be traced back to the ritual that brought your ancestors here, to this world."

  "The Dragon Emperor's magic?"

  Setting aside theological debates, Antilene considered the deeper implications. Without that first attempt, the Six Gods first, and the Eight Greed Kings later, might never have descended to the earthly plane—and consequently, her own existence would have vanished.

  'How absurd...'

  "We are the result of the choices of others," Ilio continued. "The Dragon Emperor opened a passage, letting corruption contaminate the world. His son tried to do the same. Tsaindorcus was not able to completely close that crack, only to block it. Even now, my friend consumes his soul to maintain this standoff. Two centuries have already passed..."

  "So the Platinum Dragon Lord isn't dead?"

  Shaking his head, Ilio moved through the sand, leading her toward an area to the east. Antilene hesitated, uncertain whether to keep following. "I told you of other deviations. A member of our kin, the one you know as the Elder Coffin Dragon Lord, Cure Elim Los Malavar, defiled the art, forcing Tsaindorcus to intervene. Our mistakes accumulate, and the sins of the fathers, unfortunately, fall upon the children."

  Biting her lip, the half-elf took a few more steps. "It's not always like that." Sacrifice didn't just spring from one's past; it was a conscious choice. It had to be. "So, what does the other daughter have to do with all this? Does she want to help her brother?"

  "The two have always hated each other... but I imagine hate and affection are mirrors of one another when it comes to one's own family."

  "And I thought my family's situation was complicated."

  But then, what had kept the Five Fingers still for so long? What was she missing?

  Ilio was able to instantly understand the doubts flickering across Antilene's face, for he provided the answer to her questions. "As you've realized, the original ritual is almost impossible to replicate. Even among practitioners of ancient magic, the Dragon Emperor stood above the rest. His son, the closest to him, could only imitate it—and not alone. I and others had to grant him support."

  The same principle behind Tier Magic rituals used in the Theocracy: a magic caster at the center acting as a catalyst, with others flooding them with power to allow access to higher-level spells.

  Only, this was on a much grander scale. This explained Ilio's evanescent, fading form. The effort must have been staggering. In fact, it was almost certain he was still providing his energy even now, slowly consuming himself.

  All of this, just to prevent more like Antilene from arriving. Were those like the Brightness Dragon Lord protecting something they held dear? Or could they simply not tolerate things slipping out of their control?

  "Then... she's looking for something specific... You don't mean..."

  In the floating city, there was a book. A very specific book. Many knew its legend: every magic ever conceived was recorded inside it. Was it possible...?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Perhaps the secrets of the original ritual are kept within the floating city. She has conducted numerous experiments over the centuries, usurping the research of Cure Elim and others. How long did it take her before she succeeded? And how many test subjects has she had in this long span of time? As a scholar, I am fascinated, I admit. She wants to replicate her father's ritual. To do so, she is convinced she needs the souls of all those who originally crossed over. She wants to take back what was taken. But since they are gone..."

  "She'll take the closest thing to them. Like me."

  "Yes, Antilene. You are special. Your lineage traces back to two different bloodlines among those who came here from afar."

  'Special, uh…' Being special was not always an advantage. Often, it proved to be a headache, more than anything else.

  "Who is she? What is her name?"

  "She is Tehom, the Five-Headed Dragon."

  Ilio spoke that name, and it was as if the world stopped moving. In the sky, the moon no longer shone like before.

  "And why has she waited until now? Why not act sooner?"

  "In part, Tehom has gathered as many forces as possible in recent years in view of this moment. Understand, you are not dealing with a cold, calculating mind. This is nothing more than the desperate cry of a mind that has lived in silence for centuries and wants to hear the voice of the world spirit again. But it isn't just that. Entering the floating city is impossible for us. Those who defend it..."

  "The Guardians?"

  Something unexpected was rising within the Brightness Dragon Lord. His luster was fading, and his aura of power, which was steadily vanishing, was now eclipsed by something much more human-like: dread.

  "They are not beings that can be tamed. They know only their masters. Their orders. Their logic is the will of those who created them. They move, think, act, and feed following the imperatives of the Eight, even though the Eight have since forsaken them. They would do anything for their masters. For their masters... and for their descendants."

  So that was the key. If someone could prove their descent, every secret of Eryuentiu would be at their mercy.

  Once again, what was being offered to Antilene by her legacy was power. Only power.

  "So that's why you want my help. You need me to enter the floating city to retrieve whatever Tehom is after."

  "Yes, but it won't be that easy. Only those who are accepted can enter Eryuentiu. But entering doesn't mean being able to take whatever you want. The previous warden, Tsaindorcus, had to negotiate with the thirty guardians to protect the secrets and treasures of the Eight. For them, every single memento of their masters is more precious than the entire world. But if someone tried to seize them without their authorization..."

  "Things would get more complicated."

  Not even a True Dragon Lord stood a chance of overwhelming all those monsters in an open conflict. This applied to Ilio and Tehom alike. The alternative, therefore, was to use someone whom the guardians recognized as worthy, to avoid battle altogether.

  But would proving one's descent be enough to subject them to one's will? Antilene couldn't help but compare the situation to her master. Rufus, too, was willing to do anything for the children of his former lords. Even assuming the logic was the same, where did those similarities stem from?

  "This is where you come in. But things are never as simple as they may seem."

  "When are they ever?" Antilene snickered.

  The half-elf had never heard a dragon laugh before. She had never even wondered what the laughter of such a being might sound like. It was, in fact, an extremely high-pitched and deafening sound. More than joy, it inspired reverence.

  "To enter the flying city, one must prove themselves worthy. The lower city is upheld by seven great families, who guard the only entrance along with the current warden. Obtaining their approval will not be easy. But it's not just about that..." Ilio pointed toward the second reason he had led her into the Malakar desert.

  A few kilometers from the eternal city, a small military camp had been established. Despite the late hour, figures could be glimpsed moving and preparing within that distant space.

  But it was not the only one. Peering closely, many others could be made out: small anthills that had infested the entire Malakar Desert.

  "I'd heard talk of it. A self-styled conqueror who wants to claim Eryuentiu for himself."

  Aeneas had mentioned something about the situation. Most of the free cities of Malakar had fallen; only the Diarchy of Talafest remained independent, simply because the conflict with the Theocracy had discouraged outside actors from targeting it.

  'If I recall, the conqueror's name was…'

  "The Golden King. He, too, is a descendant of the Eight—or so he presents himself. I don't know if he is in league with Tehom or pursuing his own ends, but if his proclamations are true..."

  Then he, too, could pass the guardians' test.

  "Tell me where he is, and I'll kill him." Better to tear a problem out by the roots before it planted itself too deep.

  "It won't be that easy..."

  "Oh?" Antilene grew surprised by Ilio's bold statement. "You mean he might be stronger than me?" Underrating an enemy wasn't her style, but the half-elf couldn't help but feel curious at the prospect.

  "No, I don't believe so." The dragon shot those expectations down quickly. "I only have an idea of your capabilities, but I'm fairly certain the Golden King doesn't approach your level. But it's not him you need to worry about—it's his elite guard. Some of the strongest beings in the world are in his service, and under his command, even a True Dragon Lord could not be fully assured of triumph."

  Some excelled not on the front lines, but in providing support. Even the generals of the Theocracy made their troops better when they gave commands directly. Did the Golden King, as a conqueror, follow the same rule?

  "Are you saying you're afraid, old man?" Was that why he was sending her? Worse yet, Antilene was ready to fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

  "I have never been a fighter. and a large part of my powers must support Tsaindorcus in his burden. Besides..." Ilio gave a mocking smile. "Don't call me old."

  And yet, he wasn't as defenseless as he appeared. Under these conditions, Antilene would likely win, but it wouldn't be as easy as he suggested. If they fought at the peak of their potential, who would emerge the survivor?

  Part of her didn't dare ask, but another, louder part craved the answer.

  "The worst part is that I'm aware you're trying to trick me."

  "And yet you have no choice but to trust me."

  "Hmph..." Antilene grumbled something. "If that is my inheritance, then I have no choice but to take it. But be careful: you'll be the first one I come to visit after all this is over."

  "I'd best make an adequate supply of tea, then. I hate it when I have nothing to offer guests."

  The room where he had been shut away was warm and inviting. It did not give the impression of being a dangerous and perilous place.

  But impressions could be tricky.

  Aeneas knew why he was there. It was duty that had summoned him to this task. It didn't matter how much every one of his senses implored him to flee, triggering a state of extreme alert honed by his training.

  He had to stay there, with no possibility of escaping his fate. He had been aware of it for as long as he could remember.

  'Knowing it doesn't make the pill any less bitter to swallow.'

  His dry throat forced him to find something to quench his thirst. Thanks to the kind hospitality of his "captors," Aeneas was spoiled for choice: red and white wine, spirits, sugary drinks.

  Food, as much as he wanted.

  But in such a grave circumstance, nothing was preferable to water. Even at the best of times, he could hardly tolerate the taste of alcohol; now, with anxiety prickling his skin, a shiver of disgust rose to his palate, the bitter aftertaste never truly leaving him.

  Having finished his drink, he stared at the empty chair before him, a familiar figure flickering before his eyes. Aeneas adjusted the suit his mother had prepared for the occasion, his sisters' laughter still crystal clear in his mind.

  'Smile, little brother, and every woman will be at your feet.' Constance's voice echoed in the candle-lit space.

  'If he smiles, he will lose a lot of his charm.' Had rebuked Matilda. 'Gloomy guys like him aren't for smiles.'

  As a soldier, Aeneas had learned to wear armor like a second skin, but that didn't mean other garments couldn't fit him like a glove. 'Nothing to smile about in my life.' The fabric of that dark suit, however, itched incessantly, and only his extraordinary tolerance for pain kept him from scratching himself every few seconds. And then, there was that thing called a tie… A fashion staple coming directly from the south, in vogue recently between the higher ranks of the Theocracy.

  Who had decided that a noose around the neck was synonymous with elegance? Was it some kind of joke at the expense of men?

  Finally, there was a knock at the door. There was no need for him to invite them in; Aeneas was as much a guest as they were.

  Cardinal Raymond crossed the threshold, noting with pleasure that his protégé was already prepared. "Have you been waiting long?"

  Aeneas shook his head, clearing his throat with a cough. "No. I've only been here a few minutes." It wasn't a lie. "A few minutes" was close enough to "nearly an hour" that he saw no need to point out the difference. "And her?"

  Raymond smiled with an unusually rakish air. For Aeneas, who had known the holy man long before he had ascended to his ecclesiastical rank, this was a return to a past when the high cleric would visit him to recount the adventures of the Black Scripture, narrating of a life that back then sounded interesting and exciting.

  "She is dazzling. You are lucky."

  Was he really? Fortune favored the bold, and Aeneas felt anything but such at that moment.

  Neither bold, nor lucky.

  "Will you also be part of this meeting, Your Holiness?"

  Having a trusted person on the battlefield made decision-making much simpler. That same logic, Aeneas considered, should apply to situations that were equally dangerous.

  The Cardinal of Earth struggled not to laugh. Had he taken Aeneas's seriousness for a joke? "I only stopped by to see how you were faring. My boy," Raymond said, placing a hand on his shoulder with the same vocal emphasis that had characterized Aeneas's own father. "I know you aren't comfortable in these meetings, but they are fundamental. You are an adult now."

  And adulthood, especially for those whose blood had awakened, involved a preordained path.

  "I know." The previous marriage interviews had been a disaster. Naturally, the choice rested entirely in Aeneas's hands. A simple 'I want her' would have been enough, and any woman would have been given to him as a bride, with no possibility of appeal for the lady in question.

  But without a sincere connection, how could he hope to build anything? The future mother of his children and his life partner should, above all, be someone with whom he could create a true understanding.

  Otherwise, what was the point? Knowing the answer didn't make it any easier to accept.

  "Chin up. The other candidates simply weren't at your level."

  "No, on the contrary. They were far too qualified. Far too perfect." 'But not perfect for me.'

  Raymond sharpened his gaze but pretended not to understand. If he had sensed something out of place, he let it hang in the air. After all, Raymond Zarg Lauransan had long since ceased to be the man he once was, replaced by the Cardinal of Earth of the Slane Theocracy. In the same way, Aeneas—the boy with dreams and aspirations—had to die in favor of the Captain of the Black Scripture.

  Such was their life.

  "Don't sell yourself short."

  "Hard. Anyway, regarding that matter…"

  "It's already settled. Don't worry too much about it."

  One of the Blacks had passed away recently. With the departure of the Strongest Human and his subsequent refusal of resurrection, both the Cardinal and the Captain had lost a friend and a comrade. Raymond, however, had lost something more. A part of him that could never return.

  Aeneas wondered if he too would start to lose pieces of himself like that, little by little. More of all, what would remain of him, at the end?

  "She's arriving. Good luck."

  "Thank you, Cardinal."

  After Raymond closed the door, it took only a few seconds before it opened again.

  In stark contrast to the previous visitor, a girl of delicate appearance, roughly the same age as Aeneas, made her entrance.

  The Captain rose promptly, bowing in a sign of respect to welcome her. She followed his example with extreme elegance and control. Aeneas had danced on this same floor before, but he still couldn't hold back a certain level of embarrassment.

  "I am Aeneas Marte Vicente," he introduced himself immediately, perhaps with too much haste, inviting the girl to sit. "Scion of House Vicente."

  The girl took her seat and gave her name in turn. "My name is Francesca Dulcia Elhoim, daughter of the House Elhoim. The pleasure is all mine, Lord Vicente."

  Elhoim. The same family name as the Pontifex Maximus of the Theocracy. To be expected, seeing as she was none other than his niece.

  On paper, they were the perfect match.

  "Please, just call me Aeneas," he implored her, already weary of the formalities.

  "Then I ask you to return the favor and simply call me Francesca." Her green eyes relaxed as her thin lips curved into a sort of smile. Was she also not entirely at ease?

  Aeneas could find a modicum of comfort in knowing that his counterpart shared his agitation. The previous candidates had been so coldly perfect that they had left him bewildered, in a clear position of inferiority.

  Francesca, fortunately for him, gave the impression of being more approachable—or perhaps that was just a groundless hope. Now that he observed her more closely, there was no doubt she was a graceful and attractive woman. Her figure was not very tall, but it was solid and upright, with a hint of muscle that suggested she had received a military education, as was customary in many high-ranking families of the Theocracy. Long blonde hair was gathered in a crown, leaving her forehead visibly clear, a bold fashion sense not so common in their homeland. Her skin was soft but not completely diaphanous—a sign that she was a personality who appreciated the outdoors.

  "Well, Francesca. Why don't we start with a toast?"

  "Gladly so. Just water for me."

  Aeneas followed her lead, and in the end, they toasted with the simplest drink available.

  "Well then..." Now, the hardest part began. Using his past experiences as a reference, it was up to the man to start.

  Recalling the instructions from Constance and Matilda, the young captain tried to look the girl straight in the eye, only to find himself forced to look away immediately, the embarrassment proving too great.

  "Is something troubling you?"

  "No... I... well... I'm just a little embarrassed."

  A pathetic figure. In fulfilling his duty as the First Seat, Aeneas had explored dark and forgotten places, leveling his blade against unspeakable horrors lurking in the world's shadows, putting his life on the line countless times.

  And all those experiences in contact with death, facing unimaginable dangers, had led him to a single, undeniable truth.

  'Women are terrifying.'

  Shaimaaa would have scolded him for his cowardly attitude. How he missed her...

  The other candidates would have pretended nothing was wrong, simply ready to fill their role as the "perfect wife" who would never dare make such an important potential husband feel uncomfortable.

  But Francesca? Francesca put a hand to her mouth, struggling to stifle a gentle laugh. "That brings me some relief. I thought I was the only one who wasn't at ease. I mean, I knew I had to meet a hero among heroes, after all."

  That "hero among heroes" wanted nothing more than to run away right now. "Someone told me in the past that I'm too serious. These meetings... they aren't for me. At the first one, I ran off because of an 'urgent commitment,' promising to get back in touch with her."

  "But something tells me you never did."

  Aeneas nodded. "No matter what I said to her, she always agreed with me. I could have claimed the earth was flat, and she would have praised me for my genius."

  "Supporting one's husband is the duty expected of a perfect wife." Francesca repeated the formula by heart, her tone slightly mocking. It was hard to tell if she was making fun of Aeneas or the system as a whole.

  In any case, he didn't find it out of place. That quickness of wit was very similar to Shaimaaa's. "The second one..." He continued with the anecdotes, feeling that the ice had finally been broken. "I spilled a glass of liqueur on her, and she thanked me for 'refreshing' her."

  "If it had been a very hot day, that would have been understandable. I would have done the same, my dear Aeneas." She brought a hand to her chest, as if that would be proof enough of what she had said.

  'She's making fun of both of us.' Until now, Aeneas had only considered his own feelings, but what about the girls he had met? Having to appear flawless just to please a stranger couldn't be that much easy.

  "You might consider me a spoiled child... but I want someone by my side who can be themselves. Someone who can speak to me with an open heart."

  "While you have the heart of a young maiden, Aeneas. It's not a fault. I find it kinda cute."

  Yes. She definitely reminded him of Shaimaaa. "You're not entirely wrong, Francesca."

  Francesca dropped her forced smile, letting her true expression reveal itself. It was hard, a bit inflexible, but comforting in its genuineness. "May I be frank, Aeneas?"

  "Please, go ahead," Aeneas urged her.

  "You already have someone in your heart, don't you? It's not an accusation. It would be foolish to think we could sit here for a few minutes and leave in love after a short conversation. Personally, I'm not a big fan of love at first sight. I never expected to come here and enchant you with alluring words and shy glances. My country has done a lot for me, and being your future wife could be the perfect way to repay it. I might grow to hate you. Or to love you dearly. I cannot know. I only ask you to be aware that the sacrifice being asked of you was asked of me as well. And of all the suitors who have come before me."

  Faced with that simple truth, it wasn't resentment he sensed. It was a vision all too similar to his own reality, cold as a blade. It was sad, perhaps, to see how the dreams of someone so young—as young as he was—had already been brought down to earth.

  Like Francesca, all the previous suitors brought something -be it hopes, dreams or something else- Aeneas had promptly ignored. Because it was easier to do so.

  "Someone in my heart... perhaps you aren't wrong. If my sisters were here, they would have already scolded me for steering our intimate conversation toward another woman."

  Once again: hellish monsters, creatures of the abyss, destroyers of armies. He would have preferred any of them over letting the details of this conversation leak to Constance and Matilda.

  'Undoubtedly, terrifying.'

  Shaimaaa, however, was more so. The difference was that he would have gladly faced her wrath if it meant seeing her again. Even just one last time.

  There had been no time for goodbyes.

  "Your sisters seem to be endowed with remarkable common sense. I don't mean to presume to read the heart of one of the Black Scripture, Aeneas. Especially their most prestigious member. I grew up listening to the stories of my grandfather who, as you know, was also an affiliated member of our Holy Scriptures. I've watched the same figure who read me stories as a child overlap with those same protagonists I so admired." She toyed a bit with her now-empty glass, lifting her face to smile at him warmly. It was the kind of smile that was easy to get used to. "What I mean to say is that I partially understand that it isn't simple. One lives for so long on the battlefield that it's almost impossible not to leave a part of oneself there. It's only normal that certain bonds form with people you spend so much time with, be they men or women alike."

  His mind ran to the other members of the Black. Now she was the one suggesting something prosperous.

  "I am not in love with one of my companions, Francesca. Do not fear that. I confess, I am simply confused. I am not in love... but I feel that I am missing something."

  "We all feel it."

  Her too? It was hard to believe that this girl, who carried herself with such dignity and perfection, could be broken inside. As broken as he was. Was that where the secret lay? In the ability to fake it?

  'I've thought about it before, and I'll do it again...'

  Women were terrifying. He knew it. It had been a woman just like Francesca who brought him back to reality. More than one.

  Aeneas had been baptized in humiliation and reborn as a new man. He dared to hope, a better man.

  "I'm really enjoying our chat, Francesca. It's been a long time since I've had one so... nice."

  Lately, no matter what he did, Aeneas found himself wondering if someone else, now absent, would ever keep him company again. He would face a difficult mission or wander the dark corridors of the capital's cathedrals without anyone showing curiosity about his work. Even doing something as trivial as admiring a sunset after exterminating some goblins, orcs, or trolls left him unsatisfied. Something was missing. Someone.

  "It wasn't bad for me either, Aeneas. May I trust that this will be the first of many more meetings?"

  He was forced to think about it. The room was well-lit, yet the only thing truly radiant was Francesca's austere expression. Could he imagine a life spent by her side?

  Aeneas convinced himself that he could.

  "My work makes it difficult to guarantee a regular frequency. But I would be glad to, Francesca."

  "I understand that you are quite busy," she said. "I shall await your next offer of a meeting, Aeneas. If it ever comes."

  Busy was an understatement. There was training, missions, reports. Every hour of the day was marked by a specific task. Technically, this was one of his rare days off. Simply put, there had been no other alternatives.

  "Indeed. There is always much to do. But I guarantee we will make up for it."

  "With our families, perhaps?"

  Aeneas thought of Constance and Matilda and was quick to answer. "I certainly hope not." He could already imagine the endless embarrassment.

  Fortunately, he managed to coax a laugh from the girl sitting across from him.

  "Will you ever tell me about your adventures?" There was a certain melancholy and envy that rose from deep within her. Not everyone could be a hero. And just as those who were chosen cursed their fate, those who could only admire the dream from afar yearned for what they did not have.

  Some things were much more beautiful simply because they were unattainable.

  "At the moment, it is impossible. State secrets forbid it. But with the bond of marriage..." Certain rules could be, if not broken, at least softened.

  "Don't get ahead of yourself. I haven't accepted your proposal yet."

  "Will you?"

  "Perhaps..."

  'Perhaps.' Aeneas's heart skipped a beat, realizing that "perhaps" was more than enough.

  Talking to someone like this was a precious gift. Not since he had known Shaimaaa had he been able to open up with such ease.

  With Francesca, it was different. She challenged him, but without truly calling him into question. The Captain did not doubt his role, only his own self. In a sense, it was simpler.

  When the time came to part, Francesca approached him. Both were embarrassed, though he was far more than she. A chaste kiss was pressed to his right cheek, and for a brief second, their fingers brushed, making them startle. Him, far more than her.

  "Until next time, then, Aeneas."

  "Until next time, Francesca."

  It had gone better than he'd believed possible. Aeneas still felt a sense of agitation, an indescribable force that prevented him from staying still. He had an ocean of energy he needed to vent somehow, so he wandered for hours through the inner corridors of the Cathedral of Darkness.

  Everyone he crossed paths with asked out of curiosity how it had gone. Even the high officials of the Theocracy couldn't resist that mundane pleasure that was gossip. The future marriage of the First Seat was a topic on the lips of everyone who knew of the Scripture's existence.

  To all of them, Aeneas gave the same, identical answer: "Very well."

  Very well indeed. Without realizing it, his thoughts had already been swayed. He wandered for so long that he reached a familiar place—a place he had learned to recognize well.

  The doors of the Sacred Treasury.

  But no one was expected to welcome Aeneas today. No one… Melancholy surged to his chest, until a voice he recognized all too well called him back to reality.

  "Hey, are you here already? How did the meeting with your future bride go? Well, before you tell me—look, look! I finished it."

  Before he could be surprised, the hidden figure—who was definitely not a hallucination—tossed him a small cubic object, which the Captain of the Black Scripture caught mid-air.

  He recognized the toy immediately. It was one of the favorite pastimes of the Extra Seat.

  "You...?"

  "So surprised that I managed to finish it? Aeneas, you should have more faith in me!"

  Antilene was exactly as she had always been. Everything changed, but the Guardian of Humanity remained the same. A certainty.

  No, there was something different.

  "Did you actually complete it?" Every face of the cube was finished. If there was anything impossible for Antilene Heran Fouche, Aeneas had always believed this toy was the closest thing to it.

  "It's simple once you understand the trick. You just have to pull the pieces apart and reassemble them the right way."

  No. That was far from the correct solution. The muscles of Aeneas's face relaxed at that all-too-familiar sight.

  "Why are you here?"

  Antilene placed a hand on his shoulder, grinning. "It's simple. I need you. We have a city to conquer, my dear subordinate."

  All just like old times. Really, he could have cried right there on the spot. Only one thing was different.

  'Since when am I her subordinate?'